The Secrets That Were Left Behind
by Morgaine8
Summary: Hermione's daughter has been kidnapped by none other than Lord Voldemort. Now she, Ron and Harry must fight to get this powerfull child from Voldemort and even the girl's father.
1. Kidnapped

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling's characters do not belong to us, obviously. This story would never happen in the HP books, so we're just writing it for fun.  
  
Where was she? Her little bed was empty, and there was no sign of her anywhere in the house. Continuing her search with increasing anxiety, Hermione Granger opened the back door of her house, a little brownstone in the City of Westminster in muggle London. The door opened on a large garden, which she shared with twenty or so other houses.  
  
"Evie! Evie, where are you?!" called Hermione in desperation, as she glanced wildly around the garden, trying to locate her daughter in the darkness by her bright hair. After she continued to see no trace of little Evie, Hermione went back into her house, trying to deny the panic she felt. After a moment, she walked over to her desk and quickly scribbled two copies of the same letter, one to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the other to the newly created Department of Dark Activity Control and Defense:  
  
Dear Sir or Madam,  
  
My seven-year-old daughter has disappeared, and I most sincerely hope that your Department will be able to assist me in locating her. Her name is Evelyn Granger, and she has long blonde hair and brown eyes. Due to my friendship with Harry Potter, it seems likely to me that the Dark Lord is somehow involved with this, although I would not like to jump to conclusions. I hope you will owl me with your response soon. Thank you.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Hermione Granger  
  
Hermione quickly opened her owl's cage and tied the two letters to his leg. She opened the window wide, and it sped of into the night, while Hermione gazed after it tiredly. As she sat down in the armchair across from the window, Hermione thought about the important detail she had excluded in her letters to the Ministry: the name of Evie's father, Draco Malfoy. (A/N: don't get mad at us; we said this would never happen in the books.) Hermione thought back to the end of her Hogwarts days, when this had begun. She had been in love with Draco; no, infatuated was a better word, it couldn't have been real love. He had been the most handsome boy in Hogwarts, and he treated the girls in his own house, Slytherin, with respect, which proved he had a heart, or at least she hoped it did. Although he had been nicer to her lately, having gone a year without openly insulting her directly, only the Gryfindors in general, she knew there was no hope of them having a real relationship, for they were in enemy houses, and his father was a declared deatheater, while her parents were muggles. In her desperation, Hermione had concocted a Polyjuice potion, and transformed herself into Pansy Parkinson, Draco's girlfriend. In April of their seventh year, she had given a sleeping draught to Pansy and had taken the potion. Hermione had gone down to the Slytherin common room, to be with Draco. Shortly after graduation, while she was living in a flat in Hogsmeade writing How to Pass the OWLs With Flying Colors, Hermione realized that she was pregnant. She was excited, but also very anxious, since she could never admit to Harry, her best friend, and Ron, her ex- boyfriend, who had hinted that he might still have feelings for her, that their worst enemy was the father of her child.  
  
Hermione sighed. Had she made the right decision, cutting herself off from Ron and Harry? Her loneliness in the absence of her beloved daughter Evie made her wish for their friendship now, more than ever. She had no one in the world besides her daughter, and now she felt truly alone. Hermione sighed again; she really was a coward wasn't she? She had never had the courage to tell Ron and Harry what she had done, and she had certainly never had the courage to tell Draco about either his daughter or her love for him.  
  
Hermione swallowed hard, trying to hold back tears. She needed someone to be her friend, to help her find her daughter and to help her not feel so alone. That settled it. She would write to Ron and Harry. After all, how could two angry letters refusing to see her be worse than seven years of not speaking? 


	2. The Life of A Deatheator

Summary: Hermione daughter has been kidnapped by Lord Voldemort. Now it must take regaining friendships with old classmates and anything else to save this girl from the corruption of Lord Voldemort and even the girl's own father.

Disclaimer: All of the characters belong to the most excelled J.K Rowling. Any characters not mentioned in the books belongs to us.

Chapter II

Draco Malfoy awoke at 8:30 sharp that mourning as he had been doing for the last 7 years. He got dressed in black silk robes and headed towards the dinning room at a quarter to nine and his breakfast was served 10 minutes before nine. His days were always filled with this sort of order as any man of his stature and he was indeed a man of great stature. He had no wife nor girlfriend for exception of the occasional escort. He had one of the top jobs at the ministry and owned several successful businesses. He was both respected and feared throughout the magic world and there were many reasons for him to be feared. He was perhaps the most influential deatheator with in Voldemort society. He was known to do the top jobs. In many respects he was feared not only by the Order of Pheonix and other wizards but by deatheators as well. 

Which was why that mourning when the dark mark on his left solider began to burn, something he had grown accustomed to over the years. He left his half eaten breakfast without complaint and apperated to join the request of his lord. He was transported to a dark room, and to his surprise all he could see was a little girl sleeping in a bed. She looked around 6 or 7 to be exact with long blond hair identical to his own that. She had pale white skin and a small structured face. She wore muggle clothing, which appalled him. He spent several seconds just examining the child. Before he heard a shrill voice coming behind him.

"Such a beautiful little thing is she not?" Draco turned around to see none other than the Dark Lord himself. He had grown accustomed to hearing this shrill eerie voice. But what surprised him the most was how he was speaking of such fondness to no more than a child, a muggle child at that.

"My Lord" Draco bowed to his master. He quickly tried to glance into his lord's eyes to catch an hint of his intentions. But no, to his surprised there was no malicious look that even suggested the slightest motive to kill and to hurt. A look he had grown accustomed to over the last years. But no, Lord Voldemort appeared to remain indifferently.

"You never answered my question Young Malfoy." He was now no more than 4 hands away from Draco. Draco quickly nodded although inside he dreaded the fact that he was complementing a muggle child.

"Ahh" he said slowly moving away from Draco and pulling a chair next to the girl. "You do not no how important this child is to me" Draco raised his eyebrows and did not say anything. He did his best not to show any emotion. How could a muggle child be of any importants to Voldemort it made no sense.

"With all due respect, may I ask why a muggle child is of any importants to you?' Draco asked his voice trying to maintain normality.

"A muggle child?" He started to laugh a shrilly eerie sound. "You think this is a muggle child? This child is destined to be one of the most powerful witches ever to be recorded, even greater than myself if truth be told. I have waited 7 years for this day. 7 years till I finally meet my little heir." Draco nodded dully. But he was angry, he had always assumed he would consume the responsibility as the next Dark Lord and now this child, this little girl would.

"My Lord," he forced the words out of his mouth, he would not show any glance of jealousy he felt towards this child.

But Voldemort countiued "She takes after her father, don't you think?" What was he suppose to say he had no idea who was the father of this child was. Why would he. 

"I don't think I am acquainted with this man you speak of." He had expected an answer but instead got another shrilly laugh.

"I assure you Draco you are will acquainted with this man." Maybe it was voldemort daughter but then again she looked nothing like him. She look like, well she looked like him. But that was impossible was it?

Voldemort examined Draco's every expression. Any minute now he would understand. How could he not the child looked exactly like him, except for her brown eyes which she had taken from her mother along with it the intellect. However he knew that this girl had taken her father's ambition, the same ambition he had, and the same ambition the great Salazar Slytherin had. He saw Draco's eyes widened only slightly. He had figured it out, the girl was his.

"Yes Draco, she is yours." Draco tried to keep a straight face without showing the slightest emotion. But a million questions were popping into his house. How had he not known about her, what was her name, how old she was she. But the question he needed to know most who was this girl's mother? 


	3. An Invitation

Chapter 3 Harry Potter's eyelids fluttered sleepily against the bright September sunshine streaming in through the un-curtained window of Ron's room in the Burrow. He desperately wanted to go back to sleep, but there was an aggravating tapping noise that was preventing him from doing so. Ron, Harry knew, slept like a log, so if Harry wanted the noise to stop, he would have to get up himself. After a going back to sleep a few times, and dreaming he had woken up, Harry finally sat up and wearily got out of bed, stepping over Ron, who was lying in a Chudley Cannons sleeping bag on the floor, having graciously given Harry his bed. Harry sighed; he would much rather have had his fiancée, Ginny, as his room mate, but he hadn't wanted to risk the Weasleys' displeasure by asking, so he had resigned himself to staying in Ron's room, just as he had when they were at school.  
  
When Harry finally reached the window from which the tapping sound was coming, he was surprised to find a rather large, unfamiliar owl perched on the ledge, and tapping its beak on the windowpane. He quickly opened the window, feeling sorry that it had taken him so long to get to there. He untied the two letters that were tied to the owl's leg, and noticed that one was addressed to him, and one to Ron, in a very familiar handwriting: Hermione's. But it couldn't be. Hermione hadn't sent them letters since graduation or a few months after.  
  
"What are you standing there gawking at?" asked Ron, who had finally awoken and was sitting up in his sleeping bag.  
Still a little disconcerted by the early hour and by the shock of the possibility of having received a letter from Hermione, Harry made no reply. Instead, he tossed the letter addressed to Ron over to him, and watched as Ron's jaw dropped. Clearly Ron had recognized Hermione's handwriting as easily as Harry himself had.  
  
"What in the world is this about?" asked Ron rhetorically, the expression of shock still very clear on his face.  
  
"Let's open them and see, shall we?" replied Harry, deciding to attempt to keep a sense of humor about the situation. "I've got one too."  
  
Ron and Harry's letters were identical except for whom they were addressed to. They read:  
  
Dear Harry (or Ron),  
  
I really need to talk to you. I'd like to say I'm sorry for not contacting you for the last eight years, but whatever I say will be completely unacceptable to you if you don't hear the whole story. I want to tell you in person, and it really shouldn't be written down anyway, in case this letter is intercepted. Please come to my flat tomorrow, September 15, at eleven a.m. and I'll explain everything. My address is: 45 Camden Place, City of Westminster, London.  
Sincerely,  
  
Hermione Granger  
"Well, what do you make of that?" asked Harry calmly, trying to act as if this were an everyday occurrence, in a vain attempt to keep Ron's temper in check. Ron, Harry was fairly sure, had been passionately in love with Hermione, and the severance of her ties with them had clearly devastated him, though Harry knew that Ron would never admit that to anyone. Ron was a very private sensitive person, and Harry was worried about how Ron would take this new development with Hermione.  
"What's she playing at?" asked Ron angrily. "She 'needs to talk to us.' Well shouldn't she have thought of that before she took off?"  
"Ron, Ron, calm down," Harry urged. "Nothing's going to be solved by getting all hysterical about this. Now please calm down!"  
But Ron continued to rant, mockingly: "What does she mean she can 'explain everything'? She better have a really good explanation for me to even consider forgiving her!"  
Harry sighed, and tried a direct approach to the situation: "Well, Ron, are you coming with me? It says we're supposed to come on September 15 and that's today."  
Ron sat down on the bed, his head in his hands, his body shaking slightly. It was plain to Harry that Ron was truly upset, and who could blame him? Harry would have felt exactly the same way if Ginny hadn't spoken to him in eight years. Still, Harry felt that Ron needed to go, if for no other reason, than to bring some sort of closure to his relationship with Hermione. Harry decided to entice Ron to come along by pointing out that he would be seeing Hermione again.  
After much cajoling, Ron agreed to come. The two of them dressed and ate breakfast with the Weasleys. After Harry, afraid of Mrs. Weasley's possible reaction to their going to visit Hermione, the girl who had "hurt her darling Ronniekins," told the Weasleys that they were going sightseeing in muggle London, and that he didn't know when they'd be back, he and Ron started the long walk to the nearest British Rail Station.   
Meanwhile.  
Hermione paced the tiny sitting room of her house. She paused for a moment by the large windows which opened onto her balcony above the communal garden. She watched the children playing in the playground, and was reminded for the millionth time of Evie, her beloved daughter. What had happened to her? Where was she now? Was she in Voldemort's clutches? No, Hermione would not let herself imagine horrible scenarios where her daughter was imprisoned or tortured or k. NO! she wouldn't think about that.  
  
Hermione sighed and began to wonder about Ron and Harry; would they come? Would they accept her story, as offensive and far-fetched as it would seem? She felt certain that Harry would be angry, after all, Malfoy was his worst enemy, but that he would forgive her in the end. Ron, she had no such assurance about. He would probably fly into a rage, and feel jealous, hurt and betrayed. He was clearly infatuated with her, and she wondered if she herself liked him in a vaguely more than platonic way. Oh, she hated to think that she was causing him such anguish. Well, shouldn't you have thought about that when you deserted him eight years ago? asked the nasty little voice in her head. Well, yes but. Hermione's thoughts were interrupted as the doorbell rang. It was exactly eleven o'clock. Would it be Harry and Ron?   
A/N: Cliffie, huh? Sorry for not writing for such along time. Please review, or we can't know if anyone is actually reading the story. Disclaimer: We're not J. K. R. We don't own the rights to this. We're not making any money off of this. Blah, blah. You know. SO DON'T SUE US. 


End file.
